


Gestures Meant Kindly

by StarksInTheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Daenerys Supports Jonsa, F/M, Fluff, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-01-13 06:12:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21239465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarksInTheNorth/pseuds/StarksInTheNorth
Summary: Arya has her Needle, and Sansa has hers.The only problem is that Sansa’s needles aren’t particularly useful against the march of the Others.





	1. Needles

Arya has her Needle, and Sansa has hers.

The only problem is that Sansa’s needles aren’t particularly useful against the march of the Others.

Arya’s Needle wouldn’t be, either, but Bran returned from Beyond the Wall with a Valyrian steel sword he claims is Visenya Targaryen’s own Dark Sister. Arya wields it deftly, swinging and ducking and spinning. Sansa jested one day that Arya should take up real dancing lessons, when the world is whole again. Jon laughed heartily, but Arya scoffed at the comment. Sansa is sure her sister could even best her in grace and elegance if she were armed with the right partner and the right dress.

But Sansa is not sure how she can contribute to the war effort. There is only so much she can do by ways of listening to women and watching over the children too young to be put to work. She does what she can for the running of Winterfell, even managing the account books that she struggled with so much as a young girl.

Every night she wonders what she should do, what she can do. No one seems to have a helpful answer. It's likely too late for her to learn to fight, and she was chased out of the kitchens by an angry cook the one time she tried to help make the bread.

"I'm useless." She sighs one day, deep in conversation with Jon. "I have no skills that can help."

Jon tightens his arm around her and tells her, "You have skills, Sansa, you just need to learn which ones are useful for the now."

Sansa leans in and kisses him hard for that. She loves him for all the advice he gives, for all the words he's shared, and all the support he's offered even as he has a war to win for the sake of all the people of Westeros and beyond.

Pondering his advice, Sansa turns to what she does best.

She takes out her needles and knits. She knits all kinds of things, from any excess woolen yarn she can find. Hats, with extra fur lining when someone can supply it, and sweaters, in a range of whatever colors she can find, and scarves.

Many scarves are passed around Winterfell, and she makes sure everyone she cares about has warm wool wrapped round their neck so they can protect themselves against the blistering cold the seeps in past the walls. From Queen Daenerys to Bran to the front gate guards, everyone has an item Sansa has crafted. And still, she keeps knitting.


	2. Gentle Warmth

“The winter winds are blowing!” Sansa chirps, too cheery for this early in the morning, and hands a blood red scarf to Arya as she joins her sister in the hall. Arya has just arisen from her slumber and groggily rubs her eyes. She tries not to roll them as she accepts the scarf.

“Thank you, Sansa.” Arya wraps the cloth around her neck, six times before it is all the way around. The tails still hang to her navel and the wool itches against her neck but smiles all the same. This is likely the fifth time Sansa has given her a scarf, and she has two hats and a pair of mittens. Her first set was in the colors of their house, the others darkly knitted and woven from whatever wool skeins Sansa could find. When Arya explained she needed her fingers free to wield her sword, Sansa insisted on knitting her a pair of grey and white gloves, too. Never mind that she tried to tell Sansa that her leather gloves worked just _fine_, thank you very much.

Sansa brightens at her grateful words and marches on down the hallway, steps light as rain and her woven-reed basket swinging in her hand.

Arya understands, Sansa is just trying to contribute to the war effort. She doesn’t have the steel or magic that her siblings and cousin and queen wield so deftly. Arya loosens the scarf and follows after Sansa, trying not to snipe as her sister talks rapidly about their stores of corn, wheat, and barley.

That was another thing Arya didn’t expect of Sansa. She had been so guarded, when Arya returned to Winterfell and found it not to be the home of their childhood. She barely spoke of anything that had happened to her, not even explaining how she had escaped King's Landing and arrived back in the North. In turn, Arya guarded her thoughts and words, not sure if this was the sister she remembered. Arya eventually found herself besides Sansa's hearth fire late one night, trying to escape the nightmares that awaited in her bed. Sansa was similarly restless and sleepless, and the wine flowed freely and then the words did too. Once they shared their stories of the last years, Arya realized Sansa guarded her tongue because she had to for so long in King’s Landing and the Eyrie. Here, surrounded by family, she has begun to open up again and bloom like the Northern rose she is. And of late, that happy occasion has resulted in much nervous chatter.

They join the rest of their family in the great hall of Winterfell to break their fast. The table is filled with slim but hearty fair, johnnycakes and a little bit of honey and slices of refried dried bacon. Bran has a dark blue hat and scarf set securely fastened on his head. Meera Reed sits next to him; her scarf is bright green. Daenerys’ neck is wrapped in lavender and violet, perfectly matched to her winter dress. Arya takes the seat to the queen’s right, settling into the quiet confidence exuded by their ruler.

Sansa slides into her designated place at Jon’s side, and glances at him with a concerned stare. “Jon, the winter winds are blowing. You’re the one who keeps quipping that at a everyone, yet you aren’t taking care of yourself.”

She reaches into her basket and fishes out a black and red scarf. She hands it to him. “We need you, and you need to stay warm to do anything useful!”

Jon takes the scarf with a bashful look, his cheeks bright red. He meets Arya’s eyes and she can’t stop from laughing. Jon looks like a page caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He glares as her laugh rings across the hall, bouncing from the cavernous ceiling. “Something amusing, Arya?”

She quickly grabs a bite of bread and shoves it in her mouth to keep from answering. Jon scowls at her as he wraps the Targaryen-colored scarf round his neck. Danaerys eyes it carefully, but her smile is genuine as she tells him, “You look marvelous, nephew.” The queen adjusted well to learning she had family in the world, even more so when Jon said he had no intent to claim her crown or kingdom. His focus is too much on saving it.

After their meal, Arya joins the queen and Jon for a war council meeting. Sansa takes Bran to the godswood, distributing the scarves to any smallfolk who dare to cross her path. As she disappears out of the hall, the other two quickly loosen the scarves wrapped around their necks. Arya follows suit immediately, pulling it all the way off and tossing it through on the table with a sigh.

“Does Sansa not realize that the castle is heated by the water that runs through the walls from the hot springs?” Jon wipes sweat beading on his forehead. “It’s stifling in the great hall!”

Arya shrugs. “I haven’t dared to bring that up.”

“Well, I think it’s a sweet gesture.” Danaerys says, folding her scarf in her hands and setting it aside. “She means well, and is just trying to keep us all warm.”

“That’s fine and all, but I’ve got twelve scarves now!” Jon raises a fist, indicating the cloth bunched up between his fingers. “I don’t need this many.”

“Twelve?” Arya’s jaw drops. “I’ve got five now and I thought that was too many. I think I see more of her, too. Do you never wear them out?”

“I - “ Jon begins, and drops the words immediately. “I may forget, from time to time. That’s all.”

Arya is startled by his sudden silence, and almost suspicious that he's been asking Sansa for more scarves to win her favor and make her happy. There's something gentle about the way he treats her, different from the way before when they were children. Part of it makes her jealous, because Jon had always been _hers_, but she understands, too, that she was the first person he saw from their family after so many years and so Sansa's existence will always be a little like holding a glass flower in his hand.

The queen glances sideways at Arya, a smirk on her pretty lips. Dany ventures to be the bold one of the pair. “Or do you think he sees more of Lady Sansa?”

“It’s possible.” Jon says. "We've been working on the defenses of the western wall together."

"I thought Sam was in charge of that project?" Arya asks, eyes narrowing. Jon doesn't normally forget these details of the castle's defense plan. There must be something he's hiding.

Jon pushes away from the table with startling speed. "Come along now. We’re late for the war council, and there isn’t much time to waste. The winter winds are blowing. Come along now.”

As the others rise and leave, Arya's eyes follow Jon out the hall. He is almost running, even though she knows his meeting won't start for another twenty minutes at least. Arya lets her confusion go, for now, because there are more pressing issues on her roster for the day, including a long training with the young girls of the North. But she will confront him later about this strange behavior about nothing more than a set of scarves.


	3. Firelit Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa spend some time alone and discuss their hidden affections.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewrite from 2017.

“They suspect us.” Jon says, voice dark and deep as he enters into his solar much later that night. Sansa sits by his fire, Ghost nestled at her feet, her knitting needles moving furiously in her hands. She stills and looks up at him, her soft, warm face bathed in firelight. Her hair is free of braids and the soft ringlets frame her head in a way that makes her blue eyes seem bigger, like two twin pools of water. She is in her nightgown, her nightrobe over her shoulders but untied. The overall affect makes her look younger, more innocent than she is in this cruel world. Jon steps forward and sits beside her on the stuffed bench.

"What do you mean?" Her voice is soft and almost sad. She sets her needles and the brown hat-in-progress down on a side table. Ghost perks up at the motion and glances at his master. Slowly, she moves to straddle his waist and begins to untie the scarf wrapped snuggly around his neck. Jon sets his hands around her hips, securing her in place against him. This is when he is calmest, after all. This is where they both belong, touching, loving, together.

"Arya and Danaerys were asking me all kinds of questions about you, why I had twelve scarves when Arya sees you more and she only has five." Jon sighs. Sansa stills her hands and lets the ends of the scarf drop onto his chest.

Ghost feels the tension in the room, it seems, because he stands and plods over to the door built just for him. The direwolf will find his way outside of the castle, go for a hunt or some such, and likely not return until the morning.

Sansa cups his face and looks deep into his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Jon can't tell her how ridiculous they all think her knitting is, when he knows how earnestly she believes she is contributing to the survival efforts of the North. He leans into her touch and begins to draw circles against her hip with his thumb. "Everyone seems to think the number of scarves you've given them is proportional to your affection, or at least the amount of time you spend with them."

"And you have more because we spend more time together." She wiggles in his lap and turns back to removing his clothing. Sansa tosses aside his scarf and pushes off the cloak wrapped round his shoulders. She slides towards him, pressing her chest and body against his own.

“But they - “ Jon stammers, trying to concentrate as Sansa kisses him on the neck and begins to make quick work on removing his belt. “They don’t know we spend more time together.”

“So they may realize I’ve been teaching you to knit.” Sansa leans back and pulls his layers of shirts off his body. Jon raises his arms for her, but shakes his head. He’s not sure she sees it, since her hands go straight to untying his laces after she’s tossed his shirts aside.

“I think it’s more than that, love - ” Sansa runs a hand across his chest and wraps it round his neck. She begins to knead the muscle there, soothing his aches that she has learned to care for so well.

“I know we wanted your work to be a surprise for them all, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.” Sansa adds her other hand and moves against him slowly. He knows she can feel him hardening beneath her, and as much as Jon would like to further this conversation, there are much more pressing issues at hand. He bunches up the cloth at her waist and pulls the nightgown over Sansa’s head.

She’s beautiful like this, sitting on top of him as naked as her nameday. Jon still cannot believe his luck, that the passion he found for her when he returned to Winterfell had been reciprocated. It took them both so long to admit their feelings, to act upon them, to consummate their union, but he will never be upset that they have. They first found each other fully the night she came to him, in need of a purpose here at Winterfell. Jon offered her half an idea that led to the infestation of scarves in the castle. Her kiss and love followed. He nips at her neck at the memory of that first night, not enough to leave a mark but enough to let her know he wants to.

He reaches up and fondles one of Sansa’s breasts, leaning in to kiss the valley of skin between them. She moans over him, and loses her fingers in his hair as he kisses his way across all the skin of her chest, her breasts, her neck. As she moans against his touch, Jon straightens up. “You’re right. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

"Now that we’ve settled that, I’d like you to make love to me." She demands, and leans in to kiss him hard against the mouth.

Part of Jon wants to tell her that she’s not understanding, that he things Danaerys and Arya are starting to figure out that he spends his nights buried in the woman that some still consider to be his sister, but she knows the movements of his mouth and his body so well, and when she pulls back and whispers, “please,” in his ear, he nearly comes undone right there.

So Jon picks up Sansa and carries her over to his bed, where he can kiss her and love her and have her for as long as he’d like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, then come hangout on [tumblr](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com) to talk about Jonsa, Jonerys, Daensa, OT3, ASOIAF, and GOT. I also take prompts in my [ask box](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com/ask/).


End file.
